


Assumptions

by My_Beating_Hart



Series: A Mahariel's Travels [60]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Development, Gen, Gen Work, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-14 12:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8014687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron gets separated from the group at the end of the Dalish elf questline, and shenanigans ensue that make him question his long-held worldview and assumptions.<br/>Updated once a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit appreciated.

The group was quiet as Theron led them on a winding trail through the trees, save the occasional muffled cursing and clanking of metal whenever Alistair tripped over the uneven terrain.

“There should be a river up ahead. The Brecilian Passage,” Theron announced, speaking for the first time in a while. “We need to cross it, and then we can follow it out of the forest.”

He’d been quiet ever since what had happened with Zathrian in the ruins, Morrigan noted as she stepped easily over a branch half-hidden in the grass and detritus. And now their ragged group of idiots was making their way out of the forest after what felt like a month of endless trees and Dalish grudges. Of course, Theron called it home, so it was little wonder that he was subdued now they were returning to civilisation.

“Finally, we can be on our way to Ferelden’s next set of problems.” Zevran sighed, tipping his head back to bask in the infrequent sunlight that filtered down through the trees.

“It’s not like we’re trying to gather support and stop the Blight before it destroys Thedas or anything,” Alistair nodded, gaze firmly on the ground at his feet so he wouldn’t trip mid sentence. “Why does everyone have problems they can’t solve themselves?” He complained.

“Because we are the very people they need to solve them, my friend,” The Antivan grinned. “That or Ferelden is a very, very lazy country.”

“Tis,” Morrigan agreed with a dry grin. “Especially amongst the pampered nobility.” She added, feeling Alistair’s glare boring into the back of her neck, but she ignored him and continued to step lightly after Theron.

Soon the sound of rushing water reached them, and abruptly the trees tapered away down a riverbank, some overhanging the water to dip their branches into current. The river looked too wide for the group to simply wade through, perhaps too deep as well, judging from how swiftly the water rushed by them.

Theron studied the river critically for a moment, before tossing a stick in. The group watched as it sped merrily away downstream in the blink of an eye, and Sten sighed audibly.

“Morrigan, you don’t happen to know ice magic, do you?”

The witch frowned at Theron’s hopeful look.

“No. Why?”

Theron opened his mouth, but seemed to think better about whatever it was he was going to say, because he shook his head and shut his mouth again.

“Nevermind.” He muttered, leathers creaking as he rolled his shoulders and then began to walk downstream.

“Surely there is a bridge somewhere?” Sten grumbled as he stared at the river. Typical of them to be set back by a _river_ , of all things.

Theron shrugged.

“Possibly, but the Dalish don’t often make and use _shem_ bridges. The aravels are far too big to get across one safely.”

“Then how do you- _Ohh_ , the ice magic.” Alistair realised.

“That’s rather inventive.” Leliana piped up, and Theron made a noncommittal noise as he continued walking, the group slowly trailing after him like a brood of ducklings.

“There’ll be a bridge somewhere on this river. I don’t know what state it’ll be in, though.”

“So long as we can cross it without it breaking, I’ll be happy with any sort of bridge.” Alistair replied cheerfully.

It took several minutes of walking but eventually the group found an old wooden bridge that had clearly been there a long time; some of the planks were rotted away, and the middle sagged dangerously close to the river’s surface.

“Sten, I hope you won’t be offended if I suggest you go last, yes?” Zevran tore his gaze away from the bridge to grin up at the Qunari. Sten glared back at him. “Excellent! We always have the best discussions.” The blond elf smiled as he carefully side-stepped away, putting Alistair and Theron between himself and the heavily armoured giant.

“I should probably go first, to test it out.” The Dalish elf spoke, even as the two Wardens frowned skeptically at the bridge.

“Why not Morrigan?” She isn’t weighed down by armour or weaponry.” Alistair suggested.

“Good idea, Alistair, why not go suggest that to her?”

Alistair peered over to where Morrigan was determinedly ignoring Leliana’s fashion advice with a murderous scowl on her face, and shook his head.

“No, no, uh, your idea is better.”

“It’s not, it contains _slightly_ less chance of death.” Theron retorted.

“Fair enough.” The taller human shrugged, his plate armour rattling faintly.

Dudain nudged Theron’s leg and stared up at him accusingly.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” The Dalish elf insisted, scratching behind one of the mabari’s ears reassuringly.

“If you wish, Wardens, I could be of use to you and test the bridge for you?” Zevran suggested, drawing their attention. Theron blinked at him.

“But you can’t swim. What if you fall in?” The ranger shot back, and Zevran quietly cursed himself.

“As you wish.” The blond nodded as he stepped back, watching with vague unhappiness along with the rest of the group as Theron took the first careful steps onto the bridge, a crude and simple thing held up solely by four damp ropes covered in moss and algae.

The ropes quivered under each slow step, and Theron soon used his bow as a makeshift staff to tap the damp wooden boards ahead to ensure they weren’t about to give way under the smallest amount of pressure. He could hear Dudain barking and whining behind him, but he didn’t look back.

By the time he was roughly halfway across, the nerves in his stomach had settled. The bridge was far from the safest way of crossing the river, but hopefully it would be able to bear even the weight of a Qunari in armour. He could hear the water rushing inches away from his feet, and could see it when he had to step over gaps where the boards had broken or rotted away to pathetic splinters that wouldn’t be able to take even the weight of a bird.

Once he was getting close to the other side of the bank, the bridge began to slope gently upwards under his feet where the ropes had slackened with age to make it sag in the middle. Theron had to move his weight to one side of the bridge to avoid a partially-rotted board, and that was the moment things went wrong.

The bridge shifted far more than it should have done under his newly placed weight. When he looked up at the riverbank his heart sank as he saw how badly the river had eroded its bank on that side, to the point where the wooden post that one of the ropes was tied to was mostly exposed to the open air. The rope that the boards were resting on, along with all of his body weight.

“Oh, _fenedhis_ .” He had time to sigh as he watched the exposed post shift again further out into open air and away from the stability of the ground it had been hammered into far too long ago. There was no way he could run or jump to the riverbank, it was still too far away, and if he made any sudden movements the post would be jolted free. In fact, if he made _any_ movements whatsoever the post would come free; it already was.

Instead, he calmly slung his bow back onto his shoulder and checked his pack was fastened securely around his waist. The bridge lurched dangerously underfoot, and water flowed around his right boot. Then he was tipped into the freezing cold water of the river, the shock like a slap in the face. The bubbling roar in his ears obscured any yells of surprise or dismay the watching group may have made behind him.

He surfaced quickly, breathing in deeply as he automatically tried to swim for the nearest bank, but the current was already sweeping him into the centre of the river and downstream.

“Theron!” He heard someone call amidst a cacophony of panicked barking and the river all around him. When he spared a wide-eyed look over he could see the rest of the group attempting to keep pace with him, but the current was far swifter than they were and also tireless, with no obstacles in it’s way. He could only watch as the others had little choice but to slow down and fall back. Even Dudain eventually tired of weaving through the trees that crowded the river’s edge.

Swearing internally so as not to waste precious energy and breath on speaking out loud, Theron tried again to swim with the current for one of the banks until something knocked forcefully against his hip underwater, unseen. He couldn’t help a cry of pain, and then spat out riverwater that threatened to choke him. A rock, presumably, or some other debris.

Above the noise of the river around him, Theron became slowly aware of another sound that was growing louder. A strange roaring that made his stomach cold on instinct. A waterfall, and there was no way he could avoid it short of some kind of miracle. He winced as the river continued to push him onwards to the falls, far quicker than he expected it would. Like the stick he’d thrown in earlier. No time to even think. He was helpless.

The water around him dropped away alarmingly, sickeningly fast, and he was spat over the falls without preamble or a convenient miracle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concrit appreciated.

Back upstream, the group’s panic had given way to shocked silence once Theron had disappeared from view around the river bend. Alistair was pacing and looking at the river as if he was considering jumping in after his fellow Warden, armour and all. Dudain whined pitifully as he stared downstream. Leliana had pressed her hand to her mouth and looked on the verge of tears, and Zevran felt like he was about to throw up as he stared at the churning water. He glanced at the two more indifferent party members, and even Sten and Morrigan looked stunned. He found that somewhat comforting.

“What… What do we do?” Alistair broke the silence as he ran one gauntleted hand through his hair, finally tearing his gaze away from the river and looking at the others for direction.

“We need to find him, obviously.” Leliana lowered her hand but that didn’t remove the shakiness from her voice. “We need to follow the river, and see if he’s managed to get himself out.”

The tension left Alistair’s shoulders, and he nodded in agreement.

“Let’s not waste any time.” He announced in a firmer voice, leading the way through the trees at a quicker pace, closer to a march. Dudain needed no encouragement to run on ahead like a dog possessed, crashing away through the undergrowth. Morrigan frowned to herself as she lingered briefly to stare at the river, a plan starting to form in response to this unexpectedly sudden but inevitable moment of separation.

When they eventually reached the waterfall, everyone was silent as they studied the roaring, foaming water as it sprayed out over the drop of several feet, no doubt the same questions running through everyone’s mind: _Did he survive that? Was he able to get out before…?_  

Morrigan examined the group - the way Zevran had grown pale the longer he looked at the river below them as it snaked lazily off through the trees. The tension radiating anew from Alistair’s frame. Dudain’s pacing. Leliana whispering something from the Chant as she clutched a sunburst pendant. Even Sten was examining the height of the falls.

Her gaze flicked to the forest ahead of them bathed in evening light. Somewhere out there was Theron, providing he hadn’t been killed by the fall or knocked unconscious to drown in the river. Not exactly the most fitting death for one of the fabled Wardens. Of course, they could keep searching until long into the night and potentially lose themselves in the forest without their guide, rather than make camp and stay in one place. If Theron had survived out there, chances were he would immediately start looking for them as well. What if they failed to find each other again? The forest was ridiculously vast, after all…

“Might I suggest we make camp for the night?” She expected the stunned looks or murderous glares she received in turn. Biting back an irritated sigh, she explained herself sharply. “If we stay in one place _for now_ rather than run off blindly into the forest, if Theron is capable of searching for us there is little doubt he will come back upriver first.”

Sten, at least, seemed to agree with her from the way he nodded sombrely.

“There is not much light left in the day, either.” He added. “We would not make an effective search party by blundering around in the dark for any wandering predator to find us.”

“We break camp at first light.” Zevran replied swiftly, beating Alistair to it.

With some resignation, the group moved away from the edge of the river and the waterfall to find a more suitable campsite for the night.

Morrigan refused watch duty for the night, so once an early meal had been eaten she slipped away from the brooding camp before dusk.

 

* * *

 

A sharp pain on the bridge of his nose made Theron return to consciousness. He coughed weakly, feeling the uneven solidness of stones underneath him, along with his bow and quiver digging painfully into his back. Everything hurt. He was _freezing_ , his armour stuck to his skin.

Another sharp pain in the same place made him flinch away and finally open his eyes to see what was attacking his face. A raven stared down at him from where it was perched square on his chest. Its yellow eyes and curved black beak gleamed in the waning sunset, inches from his face.

“Not dead yet.” He wheezed before the raven decided to go for his eyes. The noise and movement startled the raven into flight, its wings clattering loudly in Theron’s face as it took off for the nearest tree to caw in protest at him.

“ _Kraa! Kraa!”_

Theron blinked away water from his eyes, the overbearing smell of feathers catching in his throat before he rolled onto his side and began to cough up water. At least he hadn’t drowned, a part of him reflected optimistically as he retched onto the stones. He was soaked, cold to the bone and his body ached but the river had been kind enough to wash him up into the pebbled shallows. He was lucky. Very lucky, in fact.

When his stomach finished rebelling he looked up. The raven was a silhouette perched up in the tree, watching him with corvid intensity. Theron blinked at it, and then tried to push himself up into a sitting position, to get out of the water before the leeches found him. Shivers of weakness and cold began to run through him immediately, and he realised the cold had sapped all of his strength for however long he’d been lying unconscious in the shallows. With a grunt of defeat he fell back onto the pebbles and winced at how the pains returned to his back as his weaponry dug into his armour.

The raven began to caw again, and Theron was about to tell it to shut up before it attracted predators when he heard footsteps approaching. Lying on his back and too exhausted to do much other than shiver pitifully like a half-drowned rat, it was difficult for him to see who or what was coming.

A startled gasp, the clattering _thunk_ of something wooden and heavy being dropped; a bucket, perhaps. The voice that cut through the air like a bell was unexpected.

“Da? Da!” A girl called, and then as quickly as she’d approached Theron heard her run off back through the trees. “Da!”

Panic shot through him like ice and gave him the strength to at least roll onto his front so he could look up the bank to see anyone approaching. He reached sluggishly for his bow but doubted he would be able to use it when he was unable to even sit. Besides, it was as soaked as he was. His fingers brushed over the wet, temporarily weakened stave, wondering how much of the bow’s power was gone.

He reached for his quiver next, and the panic increased to a leaden weight in his stomach that threatened to curl upwards and choke his throat like briar vines. His fingers met empty air rather than sodden fletching. His quiver was empty. The river had washed away all of his arrows. He froze where he lay, uncomfortably aware of his vulnerability. His bow was useless twice over and he had no other way of defending himself.

And now he could hear two sets of footsteps approaching, one considerably heavier than the other. He lifted his head up to see two forms moving through the trees in the fading light of the setting sun. Here he was, a Dalish with a useless bow, separated from any form of help and unable to move. Completely and utterly alone and at the mercy of a girl and her father. Maybe others as well he couldn’t see. A group of hunters in the forest. A merchant caravan. Slavers. People simply looking for a clan to torment, and now here he was. He was a lone Dalish unable to put up a fight, or get to his feet. A perfect target.

His gaze locked with the raven that hadn’t moved from its perch above the proceedings. It was still watching him.

“This is _your_ fault.” He hissed at it.

“ _Kraa_.” It snapped hoarsely back at him.

“Bastard.” His voice cracked then, throat tightening with fear.

A twig cracked sharply, interrupting the argument. Theron’s blood ran colder than his skin. He looked up to see a man and presumably the girl who’d raised the alarm. Both were humans, and both stared at him in shock on the edge of the treeline above the riverbank. He couldn’t tell from where he lay if the man carried weapons, so he tensed and watched warily as the man stepped forwards down the slope of the bank.

Fear caught at his throat again, threatened to paralyse him where he lay in the silt and the stones. Theron struggled to move again, verging on desperate now as every instinct in him screamed at him to run if he couldn’t defend himself, but he couldn’t.

All he could manage was a convulsive spasm that made his head spin dizzily and blurred the edges of his vision. The human paused for a moment to scratch at his bearded chin, and Theron continued to stare up at him wildly. It took him a second to realise the human was speaking to him.

“Easy now… Lad? Are you hurt?”

Theron remained silent as he let his chin rest back on the river bank, too exhausted and cold to even keep his head up. He focused on trying to breathe through the panic and fear that bubbled through him as the man took another step closer to his prone, vulnerable form. His eyes slid closed for a moment, and he forced them open to stare at the human now crouched a stone’s throw away with a frown on his face.

He couldn’t move to even drag himself out of the freezing river, he’d lost all of his arrows, and the fear was sapping what little remaining energy he still possessed. If this human didn’t hold the Dalish in high regard, then now would be the perfect opportunity to get rid of one.

Theron didn’t bother to open his eyes when they next slid closed. This would be where he died, he mused as the last of his strength left him and he surrendered to the dark oblivion of unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

When Theron awoke, he didn’t expect to be tucked up warmly in a bundle of furs with a fire crackling somewhere in front and to his right. He opened his eyes carefully, taking in the unfamiliar sight of a small hut - a single circular room, but it was just large enough for two beds, a rough wooden table with two stools tucked under it and a stone hearth, along with enough floor space for an extra bedroll. There was no door, and through the open doorway he could see the forest across some cleared land and a dirt track. His back was pressed against the opposite curve of the wall to the door, and on closer inspection the wall seemed to be made out of dried mud or clay. Not a permanent residence, then?

Where on Thedas was he? At least he wasn’t dead. Theron carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position, grimacing at the cool morning air, and then realised his torso was bare. Alarmed, he checked beneath the furs but was relieved to see he was still in the trousers he normally wore under his leathers, a dark bruise spread over one hip.

That raised another good point. Where was his armour? And, _far_ more importantly, his bow?

Creators, it was like he was back in Flemeth’s hut all over again. He looked up towards the doorway, half-expecting Morrigan to come waltzing in. All he could hear was a raven calling in the distance, and chickens much closer. The smell of smoke hung in the air. Probably from the hearth.

There was a wooden bucket full of water placed near his head, along with a battered tin cup. After briefly wondering if someone would go to the effort of rescuing him only to poison him, his dry throat won out and he drank. It was presumably water from the river he’d had an unintentional swim in, but not as muddy than he remembered. Good.

Theron was about to get to his feet and see if he was alone in the area when he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching the open doorway. He tensed automatically, shifting into a better sitting position so he could bolt for the door if needed. The tension in his body sparked something in his throat, and he couldn’t avoid bowing his head to cough until he heard and felt the bubbling of sickness rasp in his throat. He listened as the footsteps drew closer, and then a human ducked through the doorway as the coughing fit eased. The same one from the river; he could recognise the beard and the faint frown of thought.

Now he was far more alert, he glanced the human up and down guardedly. Grubby plainclothes, a woodcutter’s axe belted loosely to his hip, the broad chest and arms of a forester, or maybe a farmer, but they were too deep in the woods for there to be a farm nearby.

“Good to see you’re awake.” The human began, his voice gruff, but cheerful. A broad Ferelden accent.

“Where’s my bow?” Theron croaked, and then he coughed again to clear his throat. Slowly, he finished off the remaining water in the tin cup, gaze not leaving the taller human blocking the only exit.

“Shouldn’t you be more worried about yourself, lad?” The man answered as he went to check on a pot hanging in front of the hearth. “I had to drag you out of the river like a landed trout. We weren’t sure if you’d survive the night intact, you were frozen.”

Theron narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Where’s my bow?” He repeated in a firmer tone, sharp enough that the human looked over at him to see that he wasn’t joking.

“It’s over here, on the table. Didn’t want to put it too close to the fire to dry in case it burned. It gets hot in here durin’ the day, y’see...”

Theron watched as the man went over and picked up his bow carefully. It was unstrung and didn’t look too worse for wear. The tension in his shoulders eased a surprising amount at the sight. “And the rest of your things - your pack contents and armour, are dryin’ outside in the sun.” The man added, rubbing the back of his neck as he set the bow back down.

Theron took the chance to push the furs off and get to his feet carefully, unsure of how steady his footing would be after what he’d just been through. Thankfully he didn’t stagger or collapse, and the human stepped away carefully as he approached the table to reclaim his bow.

The wood was mostly dry by now, but it would have to remain unstrung until he was certain it was completely dry or it would permanently bend under the string’s tension. Irritating, but something he would have to deal with. Theron looked back up at the human watching him.

“Where am I?”

“I wouldn’t be able to point us out on a map, but you’re still in the Brecilian, on the southern bank of one of the tributaries of the River Dane, roughly a day’s walk to the nearest village.”

Theron felt his shoulders fall in dismay. The _southern_ bank? The group had needed to cross over to the northern bank to get out of the forest quickly. And who knew how many miles he’d been washed downstream?

“Are there any waterfalls near where you found me?”

The man frowned in thought again, but nodded.

“Aye, about six leagues upstream.”

“ _Fenedhis_.” Theron swore. Suddenly irritated by the confines of the hut, he slipped outside to glare up at the sky. Six leagues. Almost certainly more on top of that from where he’d fallen into the river. Nine? Ten?

He looked around, and some of his frustration was soothed by the sight of his armour painstakingly laid out to dry in the sun, and he began to don his armour at last. The constant bending and stooping aggravated his cough several times, but he put up with it. He’d only pulled on a dry shirt and the under-armour padding when he became aware of the human watching him again, leaning against the wall beside the doorway.

“You’re Dalish, aren’t you?”

“How could you tell?” Theron shot back bitterly as he reached for his boots and shoved his bare feet into them. The fur lining inside wasn’t quite dry, but he’d dealt with wet boots before.

“Are you separated from your clan?” The human asked mildly. Theron hesitated as he stared down at his greaves, his throat itching to signal another coughing fit.

His clan, Sabrae, was long gone on an unknown path north, away from the Blight. The Mahariel clan, _Zathrian_ ’s clan, was at least a week’s travel behind the group, back in the depths of the forest. So far, he hadn’t seen any signs of another Dalish clan settled in this area of the forest. And the ragged bunch of misfits he’d somehow found himself leading across the south of Ferelden these last few months… They were hardly a replacement for his clan. _Shemlen_ , a lone Qunari and a city elf. They weren’t his clan, either. He had no clan, as long as the Blight threatened the land.

Theron grimaced as he crouched to strap his greaves on, and ignored the question.

“I’m sure they’ll be lookin’ for you, if they’re out there.” The human behind him promised, and Theron scoffed in derision at the idea, and then found himself coughing again. Why would the group waste their time combing a nigh-endless forest for one lost Dalish elf when they had a Blight to stop? He had no idea where they were or they him. Needle, meet bale of hay.

“ _Kraa, kraa, kraa_!” Theron looked up to see the raven that had been calling earlier fly overhead, and he watched it disappear over the trees. As much as he hated to admit it, he was envious of the little carrion eater. At least it could go where it pleased. It hadn’t been tasked to defeat some world-ending terror or die trying. It hadn’t been torn away from everything it had ever known and thrown out into the bewildering world beyond the forest.

“Bastard.” He grumbled under his breath as he continued donning his armour and then checked the water damage to his equipment. One or two nonessential things had managed to go missing along with his arrows, and he would need to forage for more herbs to dry out to replenish his poultice-making supplies but nothing had suffered badly from it’s time in the river.

“You don’t happen to have any arrows lying around, do you?” He asked the human as he swallowed his pride.

 

* * *

 

The group broke camp early the next morning, unsure of what else to do other than follow the river’s course downstream in the hopes they might find Theron or at least some sign of him. Morrigan studied each of the group members closely when she rejoined them.

“And where did you slip off to, I wonder?” Zevran mused, an insufferably lurid grin on his face.

“It is not your business, but I know you will pester me all day and beyond if I do not tell you. I was scouting ahead, doing my part for the group.” She glared at the elf until he took the obvious hint and looked elsewhere before she turned him into a block of ice.

Honestly, weren’t he and Theron supposed to be in something resembling a relationship? A _highly_ ill-advised relationship, given how the fool assassin had tried to kill him twice and had ample opportunity every day to do away with them all if he had the inclination to slip some powdered deathroot into the evening meal.

“Any sign of our stubborn leader?” Zevran asked a few minutes later, breaking the silence far too soon for her liking.

“No.”

“A pity.” He sighed, and there was something in his tone that made Morrigan wonder if he was actually being sincere.

“Do you think we will find him?”

“I would not trust Alistair to lead us as far as I could throw him,” Zevran replied with a dry chuckle. “Which is to say, not at all. Perhaps if he removed all of that cumbersome armour, however…” The Antivan mused as his gaze turned to the Grey Warden blundering on ahead through the undergrowth, and Morrigan rolled her eyes in disgust.

“And what if we do not find Theron?” She pressed.

“Then Alistair will no doubt lead us blindly into the next darkspawn ambush.”

“I heard that!” The ex-Templar called back to them.

“You were supposed to, my handsome friend!”

“Is that all?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I was under the impression you were starting to... Care about Theron’s welfare. Outside of what you could do to kill him.”

Zevran hummed in thought at that, but he didn’t meet Morrigan’s gaze under the excuse of stepping lightly over gnarled tree roots. His face was carefully neutral, giving nothing away. How childish of him.

“And would you object if I was?”

“I believe I have made my feelings on that matter clear: He is a fool for trusting you in such a way, and I think I am truly glad he is not with us, because that is one less person I have to worry about being killed in the night by one of your blades.”

Zevran shook his head and tutted at her like she was an unruly child. The gesture reminded her of Flemeth, and she gritted her teeth to keep her irritation in check.

“I am not one to question his decisions. If Theron wishes to dally with me for a time, then I will do my best not to harm him or let harm befall him. I truly do mean that oath of loyalty I took, you know.”

“After you have already broken it once? And I think this situation shows that you are not as good at keeping Theron from harm as you would believe yourself capable of.” Morrigan continued with an airy wave to the Theron-less party trudging through the dense forest. Zevran’s jaw tightened, a momentary twitch she did not miss. Her comment had stung him like a wasp.

“This was an event outside of my control, oddly enough.” The blond elf replied smoothly, but the calm tone hid biting steel. Morrigan was silent, and when Zevran quickened his pace to put some distance between them she allowed herself a private smile. She now had one answer, as obscure as Zevran had tried to keep it. Silences spoke far more than words, occasionally. That was something they both knew, and Zevran clearly realised it had been his downfall too late. Satisfied, her curious yellow gaze turned to the other rogue walking beside Sten at the back of the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concrit appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concrit appreciated!

Unsurprisingly the _shem_ didn’t have any spare arrows, and so Theron found himself plucking a freshly-killed chicken while her brethren clucked and scraped around in the dirt outside the hut. His own feathers in his fletching kit had been ruined by the water and weren’t even fit for kindling now. The arrowheads and sinews were unaffected, thankfully, and he wasn’t in the habit of carrying around cut shafts. He’d do that later, when he knew how much fletching he’d end up with. He hadn’t been so rude as to kill the hen without permission; the human actually seemed glad at the suggestion.

“Saves me having to do it.” He’d commented, and now he watched Theron with an undeniable curiosity as they sat a respectful distance away from each other on tree stumps outside the hut.

“So, who are you?” Theron asked out of courtesy. Until his arrows were made, he couldn’t exactly go wandering off in search of the group, so like it or not he was a guest of this _shemlen_. And the awkward silence was starting to get to even him as he worked.

“Marden, and I’m a charcoal burner by trade.” The other man hesitated for a moment before he spoke again. “My lass Blaire is keepin’ an eye on the pit right now.”

That explained the constant smell of smoke on the air. Theron nodded, glad that he hadn’t imagined hearing a girl’s voice when he’d returned to consciousness sprawled on the riverbank like a drowned rat. But it raised questions.

“It’s just the two of you? So far from the village and… Well, anything you humans might need?” Marden nodded firmly.

“We have our reasons for livin’ apart. The charcoal, for one. Need to be near a lot of trees, and that’s not usually possible when everyone’s farming crops for several miles around.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “And if you’re referrin’ to buildings with walls and ceilings, humans can live off the land just as well as you Dalish can.”

Theron cast the small mud hut behind them a critical glance and stifled another cough.

“I was thinking more along the lines of support if anything went wrong. A wolf pack, or a passing giant spider. A great bear. There’s a reason why Dalish hunting parties consist of at least three members.”

Marden frowned and nodded agreement.

“Aye, that’s a worry of mine. But we’ve managed by ourselves for the past few years. We’re not defenceless, and I like to think we have a respectful relationship of sorts with passin’ Dalish. Namely, we stay out of each other’s way unless they’re interested in tradin’ for charcoal.”

Theron raised one eyebrow, wondering how a single charcoal burner and his daughter could be so satisfied that they were safe in the Brecilian Forest. Staying out of the way of any passing Dalish clans? Smart of them.

“Wise choice.” 

“I can only hope we don’t get attacked for bein’ humans in their - sorry, your - forest.”

Theron rolled his eyes and set the half-plucked chicken down.

“The forest doesn’t belong to us. If anything, it’s the other way around.” He explained, trying to keep the worst of the disdain from his voice as he turned to face Marden. He was _shemlen_ , how was he to know? “But as for being attacked…” All he could do was shrug helplessly. “Some clans welcome, others tolerate, others despise. And you won’t know which clan is which until you’re facing down either a nod of greeting or several arrows.”

Marden’s face fell underneath his beard.

“Thanks for remindin’ me.”

“Sorry.”

Theron picked up the chicken again, pulling out more feathers to add to the growing piles either side of his legs. One pile was comprised of the unsuitable feathers, the down and vanes that had broken when he’d pulled them out, but the other pile contained the feathers he was most likely to get good fletching out of if he was careful.

“Do you see a lot of Dalish clans?” He asked a few minutes later to break the returning awkward silence, and then coughed. It was amazing he wasn’t sicker after being cold and wet for so long.

“Not many. Maybe one or two a month, although I’m fairly sure some are the same clans passin’ through and then comin’ back. Again, I never really talk to any of them unless they’re after charcoal. But it was a Dalish clan that gave me the chickens as part of their trade. I wasn’t expectin’ it," Marden chuckled to himself. "Dalish chickens.”

“And the predecessors of those chickens were probably stolen from a village somewhere,” Theron smirked. “My clan never had chickens.”

“A shame. They’re easy to keep. So, your clan...”

Theron paused, and then irritably pulled off a clinging bit of downy fluff from one knuckle.

“What about them?”

“Are they in the area?”

Theron was quiet as he considered his answer. He could always follow his first instinct and lie to the _shem_ , say yes, but what would that achieve?

“No, last I heard they’re heading north, away from the Blight.”

“So why aren’t you with them?”

Theron sighed through his nose and shook his head until he could feel his braids swinging.

“It’s a long story, but I had to leave. My path doesn’t follow the rest of my clan’s.”

“Are you an outcast, then?”

Theron grimaced at the word. _Outcast, exile, pariah,_ the sort of titles many a Dalish elf dreaded to hear directed towards them. Cut off from their clan, perhaps _all_ clans, due to their actions. Wandering alone, a true fight for survival.

“No, thank the Creators. But I am a Grey Warden.” He looked up to meet Marden’s curious gaze and display the downright unnatural colour his eyes had turned.

Marden stared at him in disbelief.

“I… Wondered about that - everyone knows the stories about the Wardens, but I didn’t want to ask. It seemed rude.”

Theron smiled wearily and rested his chin in one hand.

“I don’t like being reminded of it, truthfully. With the Blight, there’s a lot of weight on my shoulders I’d rather shake off.”

“Are you doin’ this alone? I heard about Ostagar a while back when I was in the village for supplies. Everyone said the Wardens were killed.”

“Not all of them died, clearly. Unless I’m a ghost or a walking corpse.”

“You seemed very much solid and alive when I hauled you out of that river, so I doubt that’s the explanation.”

Theron couldn’t help a snort of amusement.

“Mm. But no, I’m not doing this alone. I have a group of…” Friends? Acquaintances? “Companions who I’m travelling with.”

“And you fell in the river and got separated from them, I take it.”

“Yes. There was an old bridge, I was an idiot, and now here I am lucky to not have hit my head on a rock and become food for the pike.”

“Lucky indeed, if you came over the falls. Maybe your Creators are watchin’ over you?” Marden suggested hesitantly, clearly not a man used to interacting with a different faith he knew little about. Theron couldn’t stop a brief smile of thanks.

“I can only hope so. The Blight will be more difficult if they decide to turn their backs on me.”

“Then let’s hope they don’t, and that you find your group soon,” Marden abruptly got to his feet, and Theron froze automatically for a second as the _shemlen_ loomed over him. “I’d better go check on the lass and the pit, and stop distractin’ you from that.” The human explained with a nod to the piles of feathers.

“My thanks.” Theron spoke again as Marden began to walk off down another track that followed the curve of the trees.

“It’s no bother.” The human called back without looking over his shoulder, leaving Theron with his feathers and thoughts. There was a while of silent methodical plucking and sorting, and then he was interrupted by a sound that was becoming irritatingly familiar behind him. He looked over one shoulder and glared up at the raven that had landed on the roof of the hut to stare back at him with beady yellow eyes.

“You have an _eerie_ sense of timing, bastard.” He commented, but then turned his back on the raven to continue working.

“ _Kraa_.” It agreed gravely, and then as if it had said its piece it lifted off into the sky again in a whirl of black wings.

 

* * *

 

“What do you think of our hunt for the hunter?” Morrigan began when she had fallen into step beside Leliana and the stoic giant some time later in the day, still with no sign of Theron approaching them through the trees. Leliana’s response was highly predictable.

“It is one we should not give up. Theron may be injured, and he is alone in the forest.”

“But this is the forest he was _born_ in. No doubt he is as familiar with it as his bow, or the back of his hand.” Morrigan reasoned.

“It is still a large forest. Larger than any I have ever known. It’s awe-inspiring, really.” Leliana shrugged, looking up towards the gentle morning light that streamed through the canopy to leave dappled green shadows along the path they were making beside the river. “Besides, we cannot simply abandon Theron to the forest.”

“And why is that?”

Leliana frowned at her for that.

“That is rather cruel of you, no? We don’t know if he survived being washed downstream, but if he did then he is likely vulnerable. No doubt he is searching for us as we speak.”

Leliana’s optimism made her want to vomit.

“What makes you so certain that he is searching for us rather than the nearest Dalish clan? You saw his reaction to the clan we helped.”

“But he is related to that clan by blood! Of course they would offer him a home whether or not he ended a centuries-old curse for them.”

“My point still stands. Theron is Dalish, and the Dalish do not separate willingly or easily from their own,” Morrigan explained slowly and patiently, as if she were talking to a young child or Alistair. “He is back home, briefly returned to life among his people. He has been thoroughly reminded of what the Blight forced him to leave behind.” She hesitated, but covered it by pretending to have difficulty picking her way over the winding, buttressed roots of a particularly old tree. “If I were him - and thank the Maker I am not, for he is _insufferable_ \- I would not think twice about leaving a group of random strangers I found myself on the road with or shrugging off the heavy responsibility of saving the world to reclaim my old life.”

“But Theron-”

“ _Pashaara,_ ” Sten spoke up at last, a low grumble. “The mage is right. He will be happier among his own people. I suggest we move on rather than delay facing the Blight by searching for one lost elf.”

“The two of you are heartless.” Leliana announced after a few moments of thought, offended, and Morrigan rolled her eyes as the redhead picked up the pace to go and walk with Alistair and Dudain at the head of the party.

“Not heartless, merely practical and aware of our responsibilities.” She called after the bard.

“And yet your reaction to this situation is best described as ambiguous.” Sten commented.

“Whatever do you mean, Qunari?”

“You ask many questions, mage, and yet offer no clear answers of your own. And you keep disappearing from the trail and returning.”

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at the giant, who merely stared back at her as impassively as always.

“This is simply a very unique opportunity which I am using as I see fit. Scouting ahead, mostly.”

“We are wasting valuable time on a fool’s errand.” The Qunari grumbled. “When faced with the lure of his people, I have little doubt that Theron will follow it rather than his duty regarding the Blight.”

“And what makes you so certain?”

“The questions again. You are worse than the elf.”

“A low blow, no matter which elf you are referring to.”

“Precisely. But to play your game and give an answer: Theron is no soldier. This duty of the Wardens was placed on unwilling shoulders, that much is clear to me. If it was not for Alistair’s insistence we go west to Redcliffe first, Theron would happily have brought us east here as soon as we set foot out of Lothering.”

“And you are convinced he will stay here and force Alistair to combat the Blight alone?”

Sten blinked at her.

“As you said, this is a unique opportunity. Not only for us.”

“Time will tell.” Morrigan nodded in a mixture of agreement and begrudging respect for the far taller warrior.


	5. Chapter 5

That evening Theron found himself not sent on his way like he’d expected, but seated near the fire as Marden ladled thick chicken stew into three battered wooden bowls. He accepted his offered bowl warily and tried to ignore the intent gaze of the young blonde girl perched on one of the stools at the table.

“Blaire, quit starin’. You’re makin’ our guest uncomfortable.” Marden scolded her, and she looked down at her stew hastily.

Theron examined his as he started eating. Why were they giving him food? They’d already saved his life and they were giving him a meal and shelter for another night. Why? He’d assumed they would want him gone as soon as he could stand. Why were they content for him - a strange man, a Warden, a _Dalish_ without a clan - to stay the night? He wasn’t half-dead anymore, he should be on his way. Why were they being so generous when they had so little?

It was only the two of them out here - as far as he knew - with nothing but a mud hut, a small flock of chickens and a charcoal pit to their name. They couldn’t have enough supplies to cater for an unexpected guest for long. Not that he was planning on staying long, of course. He’d make his arrows and be on his way. Maybe he could catch up to the group. Were they still looking for him?

He smirked to himself bitterly. As if the group would waste their time combing the forest for one separated Dalish when there was a Blight to stop. His frown deepened and he shifted closer to the fire as he suppressed a cough.

For a while, the only sounds were of the popping fire that bathed his right arm and cheek in warmth and the occasional scrape of cutlery against bowls.

“You’re really Dalish?”

He looked up to see the girl - Blaire - staring intently at him again, her gaze curious.

“I have the _vallaslin_ , so yes. Born and bred.” He answered, unable to keep a note of pride out of his voice.

“Did they hurt? When you got them?” The girl asked, and now Theron could feel her gaze burning into his forehead and the bridge of his nose as she studied the curling black designs.

“Lass, let him eat.” Marden interjected, looking almost uncomfortable. Theron could only assume it was with the subject matter. As if a _shem_ would be uncomfortable on his behalf.

“It’s alright. And yes, it did.” He answered around a scrap of chicken. Perhaps he would keep the translation of the word to himself. Blood writing. It might upset a non-Dalish child.

“Why did you get them?”

Theron finished his mouthful as slowly as he turned the question over in his head, wondering how to convey the weight of such a deeply personal, sacred rite to a child who wasn’t of the Dales.

“They’re a rite of passage into adulthood for every young Dalish,” he began. “Perhaps the single most important day of their life until they go on to be bond- get… Married, that’s the word?” He asked uncertainly, glancing up at Marden who nodded in confirmation.

“How long have you had them?” The girl asked.

“Several winters by now.”

A thoughtful pause.

“Are you married?”

“Lass!” Marden complained, and she turned to look across the table at him. Theron bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking.

“I’ve never _seen_ a Dalish up close before, Da!”

Theron raised one eyebrow. What was he, a wild deer that had accidentally wandered into the house? Still, Marden was smart for keeping her away from the potential threat of a passing clan. Then he remembered the question, and sighed through his nose as he prodded at his stew. That was a very complicated question to think about. As if someone like him would ever be bonded to a woman. Or bonded at all.

“No, I’m not.” He answered eventually, seeing no reason to lie to a child.

“Is your clan nearby?”

There was a heavy sigh from the other side of the table. Theron glanced up to see Marden resting his head in one hand in defeat, staring down at the table as he ate. Clearly he’d given up on trying to keep his daughter’s curiosity in check. Theron looked back down at his bowl, avoiding the girl’s intent gaze.

“No.”

“Why?”

“That’s a long story. Are there any other questions you want to ask, or can I finish my meal?” He asked sarcastically. Blaire met his gaze and Theron realised his mistake too late.

“What about your eyes?”

Of course.

“I’m a Warden. Our eyes turn grey when we join the Order.”

“They look nice.” Blaire commented matter-of-factly, and returned to her meal.

Theron blinked, unsure of how to respond to that beyond a simple ‘Thanks’, so he didn’t. Instead he took advantage of the lull in the interrogation and quickly filled his mouth, but the girl’s curiosity seemed to be finally satisfied because the rest of the meal was uneventful.

 

Not long after sunset Blaire went to bed, and Theron took the chance to sit outside in the cool night air rather than intrude on such a domestic ritual. He sat cross legged, head tipped back to gaze up at the familiar stars and constellations he’d known all his life as he breathed in the faint smell of smoke that drifted through the trees. The sound of heavy footsteps behind him announced Marden’s approach, and then the human sat down on the tree stump next to his with a weary groan.

“Sorry about that.” He said.

“What do you mean?”

“The lass,” Marden gestured towards the small hut behind them. “Askin’ you all those questions.”

“She’s a child, I remember I was as curious as she was when I was her age.” Theron reasoned. Marden chuckled low in his throat, and scratched at his bearded chin.

“Aye, but she’s been out here with only me for company these past few years. And some days I can’t entertain her because the pit needs tendin’…” He sighed. “She misses her friends, children her age. And we haven’t had a guest in… A while,” he added, narrowing his eyes so crow's feet formed at the edges, and Theron got the distinct impression it had been far longer than a while. “So she pesters hapless sods like you, I’m afraid.”

“I’m used to it. There’s always curious children running around Dalish camps, getting underfoot.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Could you not ever go back to the village?”

“We do once or twice a year, to sell the charcoal or buy supplies we can’t get out here.” Marden explained. “Blaire comes along and if she’s lucky she gets to see her friends again for a few days, but we couldn’t move back to the village permanently.”

Theron frowned.

“Why? Surely you won’t keep making charcoal all your life?” He asked. Marden glanced at him, and shrugged.

“It pays well enough in the colder months that I’m tempted to.”

“And it's only you and the girl?”

“Aye.”

Theron frowned. He could understand not being around other families in a village, but what about Blaire’s mother? Why wasn’t she out here with them?

“Sorry if this is a personal question,” he began, and he watched Marden’s expression become wary. “But what happened to Blaire’s mother?”

“She’s no longer with us.”

There was something about his almost dismissive tone that made Theron doubt the explanation. If she’d died, surely Marden would sound sadder, or refuse to discuss it. Perhaps she hadn't died, then. Maybe she’d left them?

“I see.”

Marden simply nodded, his gaze on a patch of ground not far from his feet. Theron frowned, wondering what the human was thinking. The silence between them grew, and slowly Theron began to wonder if he’d outstayed his welcome by asking such a question. He swallowed, and then coughed to ease the heaviness in his throat.

“Do you want me to leave yet?” He asked eventually, and Marden blinked in surprise and looked up at him.

“But you’re still sick, if that cough’s anythin’ to go by. And you haven’t finished those arrows, why should you leave now when you’re unprepared?”

“Oh, I thought…” He trailed off, surprised in turn by the unexpected generosity. He found it odd that Marden was insisting he stay, but as he studied the human’s expression he seemed earnest enough, as far as he could tell with the beard getting in the way. “ _Ma serannas._ ”

“That’s Elvish, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes. I keep forgetting,” Theron shook his head. “My thanks. I… Think I’ll turn in now.” He added as he glanced back over one shoulder to the hut.

“Aye, it’s gettin’ late.” Marden agreed, the conversation over for one night as the two men got to their feet. 

 

* * *

 

That night, Morrigan was briefly irritated to find herself on first watch with Alistair, who had been quiet for most of the day as he led them through unfamiliar territory. His determination to find Theron despite the odds was something worthy of respect, even if the man himself was not.

Soon, however, she realised that rather than sit in thorny silence after trading insults all night she could use the relative privacy to her advantage. There had not been a chance to poke at Alistair’s reasoning behind the search on the forest trails, but now was the perfect time.

“Do you think we will find Theron?” She began as she looked across the fire. Alistair did not lift his gaze from the flames.

“Now it’s my turn to be interrogated, I take it?” He shot back. “I heard you talking to the others before, you know. I’m a little surprised you didn’t ask the dog.”

“Only because I am certain you and he would have the same response, and you are marginally easier to understand than a mabari.”

“At least I have that,” Alistair frowned as he prodded at the burning logs with a stick. “I’d also wager that I have a longer attention span than Dudain.”

The dog twitched one ear in their direction, but when there was no repetition of his name or the offer of scraps he huffed in disappointment as he lay outside Alistair’s tent.

“Perhaps.” Morrigan reluctantly conceded.

“But to give an answer, I don’t know if we’ll find him. I can only hope that we do soon. I can’t lead the group against the Blight without him.”

“And why is that? No senior Warden to hold your hand?”

That got Alistair to look at her, a glower deepened by the flickering shadows and orange light.

“Because I already know I’m not a good leader. Theron is, despite the fact he denies it. That Dalish stubbornness of his gets things done better than I ever could. There’s no way we could have gotten help from the Dalish without them,” Alistair dropped his gaze again. “I probably would have taken Zathrian at his word and slaughtered the werewolves without a second thought rather than hear their side of the story. That’s what Templars are trained to do - hunt down the abomination of the week and stamp it out. But Theron listened to both sides and managed to not only lift a centuries-old curse but bring peace in the process. And we need that sort of determination to go against the Blight. We can’t give up on him and leave the forest yet.”

“But you forget that Theron wanted to come back to the forest as soon as we left Flemeth’s hut. If we had not gone to Redcliffe first, it is likely he would have brought us to the edge of the forest and then run away in the night to rejoin his people. And I would not blame him if he has taken the chance now to melt away into the forest never to be found again.”

Alistair’s response was as sharp and cold as his blade.

“Theron wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t abandon the group and let us be picked off by the Fade-touched nightmares that lurk in this forest, and I for one am not leaving him behind.”

“And what makes you so certain he would not abandon us, hm?”

Alistair was silent for a long time as he stared across the fire at Morrigan, the stick held so tightly in one hand they could hear the wood begin to splinter.

“I’m _not_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concrit appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning found Theron putting the finishing touches on an arrow, trimming the fletching and ensuring the head was properly attached to the newly cut shafts - the wood for which had been borrowed from Marden’s seasoning charcoal supply for next year - with a critical eye.

Blaire sat nearby, absently twirling a leftover feather between finger and thumb. She’d watched the arrow making process all morning with deep curiosity, asking Theron questions as he worked as often as she’d asked them last night.

“Will it fly straight?” Was her latest one as Theron deepened the groove of the bone notch with his carving knife.

“I don’t know,” He admitted with a shrug as he picked his bow up from the ground beside him and experimentally nocked the arrow, aiming well away from the child as he tested the draw, looking down the shaft at the treeline beyond. “And I won’t until I fire it at something.” That something would probably be a tree, despite the risk of the arrowhead becoming embedded in the wood and impossible to get free. Blaire examined the small pile of arrows Theron had already made, and nodded in understanding.

“Have you been out here long?” Theron asked as he relaxed his draw arm and removed the arrow, waving it towards the hut and the thin plumes of smoke rising above the trees as Marden checked on the charcoal pit.

“A few years, I think.” Blaire shrugged as she pushed her blonde hair out of the way of her eyes. “But I miss the village sometimes.”

“Why did you leave? The Brecilian isn’t exactly the best place to raise a child alone.” Theron frowned, and Blaire looked away almost guiltily.

“I… Shouldn’t tell you.”

Theron narrowed his eyes at her, but it wasn’t his place to pry when he was a guest here.

“Alright. _Ir abelas_.” He shrugged, and then realised from the girl’s blank look that he’d spoken Elvish again. He automatically glanced down at the faint scarring on one hand. He’d never quite been the same after finding that trapped spirit in the werewolves’ ruin. “My apologies.” He translated as he gathered a handful of arrows and stood up. He may as well go test them on an unsuspecting tree - or that bastard raven, if it came back. Blaire followed him as he selected a tree a short distance from the hut.

“You’d better stay back, to one side.” Theron gestured with his bow to a patch of ground to his left where Blaire could watch without risking injury from any stray arrows. He frowned to himself as he planted the arrows headfirst into the dirt by his right foot, counting them up.

He didn’t have many, but he didn’t have time to start making any more. He’d have to move on soon if the group didn’t stumble across him first. He couldn’t stay here and live off the hospitality of two humans, and as much as he wished he couldn’t ignore the Blight any longer now they had started to gather aid. He needed to find the group and see this through.

Theron nocked the first arrow and drew the bowstring as far as he could. Not as far as normal, he noted, but he hadn’t been able to practice for a few days. He aimed for a spot of bark a handspan above a knothole in a tree trunk and fired. The arrow flew true, but when it hit the tree the jolting impact caused one line of fletching to come loose and fall to the ground. He frowned at it, but if he could recover the intact arrow when he was done it was a simple matter to reattach the fletching with tighter stitches.

“Are arrows hard to make?” Blaire piped up.

“Not really, they only take a while to make. Like charcoal.”

He reached for the second arrow and fired it at a spot to the right of the first arrow. It drifted minutely to the left and embedded itself in the trunk next to the first arrow, but didn’t fall apart. Better. The next two arrows were just as good, and he felt himself falling into his usual rhythm. Nock the arrow and draw back the string as the bow lifted. Breathe in and hold as he sighted the target not just with his eye, but with his mind. His body would follow, the minor unconscious adjustments of his back and arms needed to hit as close as possible. Breathe out as he released the bowstring and not lower his bow arm until the arrow had hit the target. It was all over in seconds. Only _then_ could he relax-

“Do all Dalish know how to use a bow?”

Theron glanced over to see Blaire watching him with open curiosity, so like last night. He couldn’t help a grin.

“Our mages don’t.”

“Are they not allowed to?” The girl frowned as she stepped towards the tree he’d been using for target practice.

“No, they have a far better weapon at their fingertips than a bow and arrow. Step back again.”

On the next arrow, Theron felt his draw arm tremble as he drew back the bowstring again. He held the draw, curious, and sighed as the trembling increased with the effort of keeping the string taut. No, it wasn’t the fact he was out of practice, it was the fact he’d nearly drowned. His body was still weak. The arrow _thunked_ as it hit the tree, and like the others it wasn’t quite on target.

“Can I try?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Theron looked the young girl up and down critically. Perhaps only eight winters old. Too young for a Dalish longbow, let alone any other kind of bow. He looked away before he responded, more focused on target practice than a child’s questions.

“You’re too small. You’re not strong enough.”

He looked over at the sound of an irritated huff, and watched Blaire storm off away from his improvised range, chickens clucking as they scurried out of her way. He tried not to dwell on the thread of guilt caused by her abrupt departure.

Theron reached for the penultimate arrow, twirling it between his fingers absently as he lowered his bow for a few moments’ rest. Now he could concentrate on practicing without being distracted by a curious child - as nice as she was, Blaire seemed to be fascinated by him. Was it because he was an elusive Dalish elf finally seen up close? Or was it that he was the first guest these two had entertained in a while?

Oh, it didn’t matter why a _shem_ child found him interesting, and he had more important things to worry about than contemplate unexpected hospitality. He had to find the group, and as much as he hated it he needed to do his duty as a Warden and face the Blight...

He sighed, and shook his head as he tried to refocus on the task at hand. He nocked the arrow rather than continue to stare at it, raising the bow as he drew back the string. His gaze flicked up to the target and a breath later he released the string. And saw Blaire, too late, in front of the tree. Directly in the arrow’s path.

“Blaire!”

A cold horror filled him.

There was a sudden flash of blue-white light so bright Theron had to narrow his eyes against it, and it wasn’t until he saw the arrow sink into the dirt a good five paces away from the tree that he realised it had been effortlessly knocked aside by a barrier. A _magical_ barrier from the girl in front of him. Blaire’s eyes were wide in shock, but both her hands were spread. A calmly swirling blue energy danced in front of them like a thin sheet of water until it flickered and died away as quickly as it had burst forth. Theron stared back at her, and his loosened grip allowed the bow to slide several inches down in his hand. She was mageblooded. That explained so much. In the silence, a raven called in the distance.

Blaire’s stunned expression faltered and crumpled, her arms dropped back to her sides and her high-pitched keening broke the silence and the hollowing fear that kept Theron rooted to the spot. Shouldering his bow, he sprinted over and fell to his knees in front of her.

“Creators, Blaire, are you alright?” He asked, looking carefully for any sign of injury as the girl cried in front of him. She nodded and relief flooded him when he found no marks or signs of blood. Admittedly his first impulse was to hug Blaire and hold her close in an attempt to comfort her the way he would have with a Dalish child, but he resisted it. In the months spent apart from his clan and amongst humans and other non-Dalish, he’d learnt that not many appreciated casual physical contact.

“ _Ir abelas, da’len, ir abelas_ ,” He breathed as Blaire continued to sob, wondering if she was crying not because of the brush with death, but because of _him_ , the cause of it. “It was an accident, I swear it. I didn’t know you were there.”

Slowly Blaire calmed down, her sobs trailed off to sniffling as she wiped her face clean. She stared at Theron with tearful eyes.

“You… You’re not mad?”

Theron frowned in confusion.

“Why would I be mad?” Aside from Blaire wandering out into danger when he hadn't finished his practice, of course. The girl sniffled.

“Because… I’m a mage.”

Creators, if there was one thing about humans he’d never understand it was how they treated their mages.

“Of course I'm not.” He looked over one shoulder, back towards the hut. “Shall we go sit down somewhere more comfortable?”

Blaire nodded, and led the way over to one of the tree stumps they'd used as seats before. Theron studied the girl as she dried her eyes on the sleeve of her dress.

“I’m not mad about you being a mage,” he began gently. “What I am mad about is the fact you put yourself in danger, wandering out in front of me like that.”

“You put your bow down. I thought you were done.”

“Admittedly, I should have said something, but I’m not used to an audience and I was also distracted.”

“By what?”

“Wondering if I’ll see my friends again, or if they’re even looking for me.”  
“They should be, if they’re your friends.” Blaire sniffled again, reminding Theron of why she’d been crying.

“So, you’re a mage?” He asked, and the girl nodded guiltily.

“When my magic showed, my da didn’t want the Templars to take me away to the Circle as well, so we moved out here. It’s my fault we left the village.”

“It’s not your fault,” Theron disagreed. “You’re a mage, you have gifts you should be proud of. If it wasn’t for that barrier, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Blaire’s eyes widened and she seemed to be on the verge of crying again. _Fenedhis_.

“I mean… The Dalish view mages differently than humans, you know.”

“They do?”

Theron nodded.

“Our mages lead the clans, in fact. We need them to find the safest paths, to keep us and the history of our people safe. A mage would never be hated or feared simply for existing. There’s no greater honour for a Dalish elf than to be born mageblooded.” He finished with an old, familiar pang in his chest. Blaire was staring at him again, her tears gone. The look of awe on her face where there had been fearful guilt made Theron smile despite everything that had just happened.

The sound of footsteps made them both look up to see Marden approaching them. The human stopped when he saw Blaire’s flushed, tear-stained face and Theron’s smile, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Care to tell me if I’ve missed something?”

Theron froze where he sat, the smile fading quickly as he wondered if the _shem_ would really kill him after all. Then he took a breath and ignored that frantic little voice. Marden had shown him nothing but kindness and mercy in the few days he’d been here, and didn’t seem like a man prone to violence. He could have been left on the river bank to become food for the pike and leeches but they’d saved him instead and shared what little they owned with a stranger - and a ‘savage’ Dalish elf to boot.

They weren’t what Theron had expected of two humans, it was surprising. They’d only been good to him so far, and hadn’t even suggested he leave them when he’d recovered from near-drowning. Marden wasn’t going to kill him, he reassured himself as he got to his feet and walked over to the charcoal-burner.

“Well, I now know that Blaire’s a mage.” He explained, keeping his voice down so the girl hopefully wouldn’t overhead. The guarded look on the taller man’s face relaxed only slightly.

“How? Did she tell you?”

“No, I was testing out the arrows I’ve made and there was nearly an accident, but she cast some kind of barrier on instinct. She wasn’t hurt, but was upset afterwards.”

Marden peered over Theron’s head to look at Blaire again.

“You didn’t threaten her, did you, lad?”

Theron shook his head so quickly he could feel his braids whip the air, knowing how protective a father could be of his child, especially if it was only the two of them.

“Creators, no! I would never harm a child, ser. I just finished telling her that we Dalish honour our mages.”

Marden studied him again, confused.

“You do?”

“Of course. They are our Keepers, our…” Theron frowned, trying to think of an analogy that a human would understand. “Shepherds, if you will. Without a mage to guide a clan and keep it safe, it’s members would be lost.”

Marden nodded slowly in understanding.

“I think the lass needs some reassurance. I’ve only been able to help her so much.” The taller man admitted. Theron looked over at Blaire again, his eyes widening as an idea occurred to him.

“If you’d allow it, Marden, I think I’ve thought up a way for Blaire to learn more about her powers, maybe even receive training. You said the Dalish pass by every so often?”

“That I’m aware of, yes. I haven’t seen any in the area recently.”

“That won’t be much of a problem. I can leave markers only the Dalish know to look for, let them know there’s a young mage nearby in need of training and that you aren’t a threat,” Theron explained. “If a clan decides to investigate, they won’t disappear at the first sight of you like a skittish deer, they’ll stay. The Keeper or the First might pass on their knowledge of magic to Blaire.”

Marden stared at Theron in disbelief.

“The Dalish would be willing to teach my lass?”

Theron hesitated, and shrugged.

“Possibly. It’d depend on the clan, what the Keeper thinks of humans. It might work, it might not. All you can do is wait and hope.”

The charcoal-burner nodded slowly.

“Aye, and the chance of her learning what she’s capable of from someone who knows what they’re talking about is worth it. Do what you need to, then.”

“I’ll also go test my arrows far away from the hut, so there’s no risk of anyone getting hurt. Sorry about that.” He added sheepishly.

“That would be wise, lad.”

With that Marden went to sit with Blaire, and Theron took it as his cue to reclaim his arrows from the tree and slip off into the forest to find something else to loose them on. He paused on the edge of the treeline and glanced back at the small clearing that smelt constantly of smoke, to the small dirt hut with the chickens wandering in search of food, to Marden and Blaire sat together, the girl brought close in a one-armed hug.

This was all the two of them had - each other and a few material possessions to prevent them from starving or being killed by the forest they relied on. Like a Dalish clan, they fought for survival every day, and yet somehow they found the resources to share what they could with a stranger. Theron frowned to himself, and then disappeared into the trees. As he walked in a wide circle around Marden’s homestead, he occasionally paused to draw out his carving knife and crouch in front of exposed tree roots to scratch something into the bark. Three small symbols, each no bigger than the pad of his thumb, somewhere between words and pictures. _Safety. Mageblooded. Guidance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated.


	7. Chapter 7

Theron didn't return until evening, dragging the body of a young buck behind him as he stepped into the clearing. Both Marden and Blaire emerged from the hut to watch in surprise as he approached.

“You didn’t need to do this,” Marden blinked as he looked from Theron to the glassy-eyed deer and back. “It’s… It’s too much, really.”

Theron shrugged as he set his prize down in front of the hut.

“It’s a Dalish way of showing thanks.”

“A _whole_ deer?” Marden pressed in disbelief.

“Admittedly, no. I’d take a share of it, but I should leave soon. Besides, you need it after having an unexpected guest eating your food.”

“Well, if you insist,” Marden frowned. “But you didn’t need to give us such a reward, we were just doing what was right by helping you.”

Theron blinked in surprise. They’d honestly not expected a reward or payment for saving his life and then having him as a guest? It was all out of the goodness of their hearts, despite the cost and the fact he was a stranger and Dalish. He… Hadn’t expected such selfless kindness from humans, if he was to be honest with himself.

“But I... _Suppose_ it will save me having to go hunting myself in the near future.” Marden finished.

“I don’t think I can fully repay you for saving my life.”

“This and those marks of yours should cover it.”

“Still, I am forever in your debt for what you did. _Ma serannas_ -” He noticed the slightly blank looks the two gave him. “My thanks - to you both.”

“Did you really kill that yourself?” Blaire asked as she looked at the deer. Oddly, she didn’t seem to be squeamish or upset being so close to a freshly-killed animal. Perhaps life in the Brecilian had trained that reaction out of her?

“Y-”

“ _Kraa, kraa_!”

The three of them looked up to see a raven circling overhead. _The_ raven, Theron realised. It dived and glided effortlessly past the three of them, so low to the ground it scattered a handful of chickens scratching at the dirt and landed on the ground near the hut. It stared at them with sharp yellow eyes.

“That raven has an eerie sense of timing.” He commented.

“It’s probably after the chicken eggs.”

“I don’t think ravens are supposed to have yellow eyes, da.” Blaire spoke up again as she edged closer to her father.

“ _Kraa_.”

Theron studied the raven, and then a cold chill of realisation trickled down his spine. Then it was replaced by a sharp flash of irritation.

“Morrigan,” He grit out. “Care to join the conversation?”

The raven stared back at him, and then with a flash of arcane smoke it was replaced by a certain black-haired witch, sans staff or clothes.

Blaire gasped, and Theron politely looked away in time to see Marden do the same and also cover Blaire’s eyes. Morrigan tutted at them.

“Am I to believe you all will go blind if you look upon a naked woman?” She asked scornfully. “You have my attention, Theron.”

“And I have some spare clothes you could wear?”

“That would be… Appreciated.”

Still averting his gaze, Theron began to dig through his pack for a shirt and trousers, throwing them the short distance to Morrigan.

“How polite of you.”

Theron ignored the withering sarcasm.

She’d been the bastard raven this whole time. She could have revealed herself at any moment, but she’d instead waited and let him keep believing the others didn’t know where he was.

“So, this is one of your companions?” Marden asked in an undertone as Morrigan dressed.

“Yes, and I think this means the others are nearby.”

Did they know? He doubted it, but… Creators, she’d woken him up on the riverbank! He could have avoided the past few days if she’d gone back and told the others immediately, or transformed and helped him. What kind of game was she playing with him?

“Can they all do that? Turn into birds?”

Theron looked down at Blaire, who'd wriggled free of her father’s grasp to look up at him. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“No, only Morrigan can. But,” he dropped his voice to a loud, teasing whisper. “If you ask a Dalish Keeper nicely they might be able to show you how.”

Blaire grinned.

“Hey now…” Marden broke in uneasily.

“Da, I could turn into a _bird_!”

“That's what I'm worried about, lass.”

The conversation was interrupted by Morrigan clearing her throat. Her arms were folded and the too-broad shoulders of the shirt made the hems of her new sleeves fall down to around her hands. Thankfully his trousers fit better, but it was odd to see Morrigan in something other than her usual clothes.

“Warden, we should talk.” She announced as she rolled up the sleeves. “I would prefer not to have an audience.”

Theron nodded.

“Give me a minute?”

Morrigan looked from him to the two other humans and rolled her eyes.

“If you must.”

“So, this is goodbye.” Marden confirmed.

“Yes, I think I’ve stayed as long as I need to. I have to find the rest of my… Companions.”

“Then I hope you find them soon, Theron. Maker’s blessing to you.”

“And may the Creators watch over you both, too.”

“You too, lad.” Marden clapped him on the shoulder with a smile, surprising him again not just with the kind words, but the sort of casual physical contact he’d not found outside of Dalish clans.

“Goodbye, Theron. Good luck stopping the Blight.”

Theron looked down at Blaire, and smiled at her.

“Thanks, I'm going to need it. You need to keep training.”

The girl nodded.

“I will.” She promised with a shy smile of her own.

“Safe travels, Theron.”

Theron nodded in acknowledgement, and then joined Morrigan where she now waited at the treeline.

“It appears you have made friends.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“They are human.”

“They saved my life and looked after me.” Theron replied even as he realised what she was getting at.

“So not all humans seek to kill or judge you.”

He looked at Morrigan, but her expression was neutral, which left him alone with his thoughts. Marden and Blaire had proved that, unless they were merely an exception to the rule. Or maybe the witch beside him had a point? Had that been her plan all along? Her little game? Some convoluted plan to make him change his view of humans? Creators...

“I... Suppose so.” He admitted. “Anyway, you have some explaining to do.”

“Shall we leave these two fools and find our merry band of idiots while I do so?”

“They’re not fools. How far away are our idiots?”

“Not very. I was merely scouting ahead.”

“Like you’ve been doing for the past few days?”

Morrigan remained silent, and Theron sighed as she walked away into the forest. He caught up quickly, and just before they disappeared from view of the clearing he cast a glance over one shoulder at Blaire and Marden, who were still standing watching them. Then the trees interrupted his line of sight, and he and Morrigan left behind the smell of smoke and clucking of chickens.

The silence reigned for a few minutes more, then:

“I am glad you did not drown.”

“So am I. Strange how we have that in common.”

“Indeed.”

Twigs cracked underfoot as they continued walking, until Morrigan’s irritable sigh let Theron know she was rolling up the sleeves of her borrowed shirt again, clearly not used to them.

“I am surprised my trousers fit you. Most of my height’s in my legs.”

“Your shirt, however…”

Morrigan grimaced. Theron could only shrug, his leather armour creaking.

“I’m a male archer. You’re a female mage. Different body types. And it’s odd, not seeing you in your normal clothes.”

“It feels stranger than it looks, do not worry.”

“Where are your things, anyway?”

“With the idiots.”

Theron looked down at the ground, and realised belatedly that Morrigan was walking barefoot over the leaf litter and tree roots.

“You can wear my boots, if you want?” He offered. Morrigan looked at him in disbelief, and shook her head.

“I doubt they would fit. Truly, you are _far_ too generous a Dalish for your own good.”

“That’s because I like you, for some inexplicable reason.”

“And what would you do if you did not like me?”

“I’d steal your shoes.” Theron answered as seriously as he could manage. He could feel Morrigan’s gaze on him, but kept innocently studying the trees ahead.

“I suppose tis better than putting an arrow through me.”

“I’m still tempted to.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Morrigan, I know you’re not that stupid,” Theron answered sharply as the irritation from before returned. “You’ve been following me around ever since I washed up on the riverbank - if I remember it right, you were the damn raven that kept pecking me until I woke up! You had every opportunity to help me or lead the others to me from the start, and yet you didn’t,” He was glaring at the witch beside him now. “Why?”

Morrigan studied him with those yellow eyes he knew he wouldn’t forget ever again.

“I think you know the answer as well as I do, Theron.”

Theron took a steady breath in as he looked back at the path ahead.

“Twas a test of character.” He muttered to himself, mimicking her accent as best he could. Of course. This was _Morrigan_ he was talking to. She huffed beside him, but he didn’t look at her again.

They settled into an uneasy silence after that, the sounds of their footsteps and the forest around them only emphasising the quiet between them, each nursing their respective wounds. Theron frowned to himself as he hopped lightly over a gnarled clump of roots in his path. What right did Morrigan have to do that to him? Test of character or not, there were far simpler ways than leaving him half-dead in the hands of two strange humans and hoping for the best.

Creators, he would never be able to understand her motives. Or her in general. They would get on well enough, bonding over their shared experiences of being raised away from civilisation and mutual irritation at human society, and then they’d either find something to argue about or he would unwittingly say something Morrigan would scorn. She was frustratingly _impossible_ , and part of him knew she would view that as a compliment if he ever said it aloud. She was… Morrigan.

Theron was about to dig his waterskin out and take a drink when he heard noise up ahead. Peering through the trees, he caught the glint of metal in dappled sunlight.

“I suppose this means we have reached our idiots.” Morrigan finally broke the silence with a resigned sigh.

“Good.”

“Theron!” Leliana calling his name caught his attention, and then the bard was weaving elegantly between the trees to greet him with a wide smile. To his surprise, she immediately pulled him into a hug. “You’re alive!”

“You know how the Brecilian is by now, I could be his ghost.” Theron shrugged when Leliana released him. He glanced to his left but Morrigan had vanished. Presumably she’d gone to get her things back from wherever she’d left them.

“You seem real enough to me. We’ve been searching ever since we lost sight of you.”

The sound of metal clanking and leather creaking announced that Alistair, Sten and Zevran had made their way over. The first thing Theron noticed was the relieved slump to Zevran’s shoulders even if his expression was tightly guarded, and then Alistair’s open, weary smile.

“Can we move on now?” Sten grumbled, and he looked more annoyed than relieved to see Theron.

“Give him a minute, he could have drowned.” Leliana protested. Sten rolled his eyes, muttered something to himself in Qunlat and went back to the path the group must have been following.

“How are you feeling?” Alistair queried, and Theron looked up to see the human, his brother Warden, frowning at him in concern.

“A little bruised, but we Dalish are hard to kill.” He answered lightly. “Have you really been searching all this time?”

Alistair nodded.

“Of course. I wasn’t going to give up the search after a few days-”

“Although we were worried when there was no sign of you anywhere downstream of the waterfall.” Leliana interrupted.

“Have you been alright the past few days?” Alistair asked.

“Fine, but I had to stay in one place for a few days to make some new arrows before I could start searching for the group.”

“Somewhere safe, I hope?”

Theron hesitated. Should he tell them about the charcoal-burner that had saved his life? What would Alistair’s reaction be to news of a mage child living outside the Circle and possibly getting trained by Dalish mages?

“As safe as can be found outside a Dalish camp.” He shrugged.

With that, the four of them trailed after Sten back onto the path and caught up easily with Bodahn’s cart. Morrigan had reclaimed her staff and normal clothes, and handed Theron his neatly folded plainclothes without a word. It was only as he slowed down to put them in his pack that he realised his blond shadow had yet to speak. He looked up from his pack to see Zevran had stopped to watch him.

“And what about you?”

“What of me?”

“Everyone else seemed to have something to say, but you don’t?”

Zevran sighed through his nose, and watched the group’s slow progress ahead of them.

“Of course I do. I was simply being polite and letting the others have their say first.” He answered with a faint smile. Theron raised one eyebrow at him, following his gaze to the group and back.

“They’ve had their say. You can have yours now, safe from prying ears.”

“If you insist.” Zevran sighed, but he remained quiet for a few more minutes. Even though Theron had finished with his pack they remained walking at a slower pace, Zevran falling into step with Theron easily.

“I think it is a very good thing you did not drown,” He began, and Theron resisted the urge to mention that Morrigan had given a similar comment earlier. “It would be a rather poor end for a Warden, no? Drowned in some muddy river like a common drunkard; it hardly suits you.”

Theron nodded in agreement with Zevran’s rambling.

“A very poor end. Embarrassing, too.”

The blond chuckled.

“But you live. I cannot kill you, a river cannot kill you, so far the darkspawn and other foes we have faced have not killed you…”

“There’s still time for that, don’t worry. Who knows, maybe the Archdemon will land a lucky hit?”

“Maybe, if the stories I have heard are true. The last Blight devastated Antiva, you know? The capital city lay in ruins, and even now so many generations later she has not recovered completely from such a blow.”

Theron blinked in surprise. All he knew about the last Blight was what Duncan had told him once long ago in an attempt to draw him out of his shell. About Garahel the city elf, and his sacrifice to save Thedas. He frowned to himself, wondering if he would need to make such a sacrifice some day in the near future. Creators, the Blight was such a morbid topic.

“Had you been searching for us, too?” Zevran asked, no doubt thinking along the same lines and stopping the abrupt tangent before it could turn even darker.

“Not really,” Theron admitted. “I lost all of my arrows to the river so I had to stay in one place to make new ones.” He hesitated as he again considered keeping Marden and Blaire a secret, but this was Zevran so he continued. “I was actually saved by a human - a charcoal-burner, and his daughter. They looked after me and gave me shelter.”

“Hm. The charity of strangers knows no bounds. Surprising, given the sort of people we have crossed paths with in this forest already that wanted to kill us on sight.”

“Very. But I owe these two my life.”

Zevran sighed again, and he looked thoughtful.

“That is not an easy debt to repay. If that is the case, I wish I could thank them for helping you.”

“Why?” Theron frowned.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Zevran asked with a hopeful expression. Oh. Clearly he was hoping that he wouldn't have to give voice to his feelings today.

“It is, but I’d like you to say it some day.” He replied.

Zevran smiled at him then, not mockingly but almost sadly.

“And, believe me, I too would like to say it, but…” He trailed off into an awkward silence.

Theron glanced down at the ground in front of his feet, not sure of what to say to that. Then he felt a warm hand hesitantly curl around his. He smiled, and gently squeezed the blond’s hand back. This would have to do for now.

He looked ahead at the group, and now things had settled down he found himself reflecting again on everything that had happened to him. Almost drowning, certainly, but Marden and Blaire. They’d saved him and given him shelter and supplies while he recovered. By the end of his stay, they were far away from a threat to him like he’d expected of humans.

Neither were Alistair, Leliana and perhaps Morrigan, too.  For a Dalish to be friends with and travelling with _humans_ willingly. They’d searched for him rather than move on without him. To not be thinking of them as _shemlen_ anymore, but humans... They were his allies, if not his friends. Maybe some day that would change. Oddly, being separated from the group and nearly drowning seemed to have done him some good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated.


End file.
